


What It Feels Like

by spicywatson



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Loneliness, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, it's season 2 domestic nygmobs!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicywatson/pseuds/spicywatson
Summary: It’s been several weeks since he’s shared his home with Oswald Cobblepot, but he’s cherished each day tremendously.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 15
Kudos: 133





	What It Feels Like

Ed could have never dreamed his life would take this path. _GCPD forensic technician-turned-secret serial killer._ He’s taken three lives and crushed them in his hands, only one of which he regrets. It’s thrilling, really, yet Ed can still feel the anxiety surging within him. He still has so much to learn. But it turns out, this is no longer a path he must walk alone. No, he has someone now, someone he admires so deeply, someone he finds utterly extraordinary. It’s been several weeks since he’s shared his home with Oswald Cobblepot, but he’s cherished each day tremendously.

But last night was something wildly different. It had Ed’s veins bursting with adrenaline and blood rushing through his ears and his mind racing a mile a minute. It ended with Ed’s shirt splattered in blood and Oswald’s lips and hands all over him. In short, last night was _incredible._

Earlier that evening, Oswald took a turn for the better. Feeling a little lighter and being in a better mood, he’d asked Ed where he had stowed away the gentleman that was previously tied up. So, Ed dragged Mr. Leonard out from storage and directly to the center of the room. The man squirmed and whimpered and Oswald chuckled. Ed offered him the knife, but Oswald had shook his head and smiled. 

_Show me,_ he had said. 

That familiar, dark _something_ released within Ed, and he’d never felt freer than he did in that moment. They took turns, trading the knife back and forth, each stained red and laughing breathlessly. When it was all said and done, each of them breathing harshly and grinning, their glinting eyes met, just briefly. Something was brewing.

Oswald stripped out of his bloody clothing to his undershirt, skin glowing white as he stood by the window and bathed in the moonlight. Silver flickered in his pale eyes. _God, he was beautiful._ Ed only watched, trying to even out his breath but experiencing some difficulty (Oswald seemed to steal it away). Eventually, after breaking from his daze, he brought them each a drink- red wine, it was all he had. Their fingers brushed as Ed handed him his glass. Oswald sipped slowly, carefully, eyeing Ed over the rim of the glass all the while. He made Ed’s mouth go dry, the way he was. Quiet but so… _sultry._ Ed couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing over the curve of his jaw, his long neck, the elegant line of his collarbone. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on his own glass.

Finally Oswald decided to retire to bed, but Ed could tell something was still on his mind, since he’d been mostly silent all evening. He invited Ed to sleep in the same bed, reasoning that he shouldn’t squeeze his long body on the sofa- although Ed had been doing that every night for several weeks now, anyway. They’d never actually shared the bed before.

Nevertheless, Ed followed Oswald. Something about him was so _bewitching._ Ed had met his darkened eyes under the covers and was instantly under his thrall. Before he could even think, Oswald’s lips were on his, devouring him intensely. Something bloomed in Ed’s ribcage, a swelling warmth that made his heart hammer. He kissed Oswald desperately, with as much passion as he could muster, and never once thought about breaking away. And then Oswald had gently grasped Ed’s hands and pressed them to his own body, on his sides, on his hip bones. 

_Please, Edward._

Ed never dreamed he would ask. It’s no secret that Oswald is lonely, but Ed couldn’t imagine how this stunning creature could want _him,_ with his riddles and his rumpled green sweaters and his tousled, curling mess of hair. Then again, he’s noticed a spark growing between them, glowing brighter every second they spend together. Even before they had broken new ground, before they had shared in the intimacy of Mr. Leonard’s demise, Ed felt this overwhelming tension which only built over time. From the way Oswald blushed and eyed him over a glass beaker full of wine, or the way he was so _comfortable_ wearing Ed’s pajamas and nesting in his blankets, it was clear to Ed that there was something between them, and that Oswald felt it too. 

So Ed slipped his hands over the expanse of soft, pale skin, over every inch of Oswald’s body. And then he allowed himself to fall into this alluring man.

He wakes up with his nose buried in a mop of soft black hair and his body curled around Oswald’s. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s actually gotten a restful night of sleep, and he likes to think it’s thanks to this short, feisty man in his arms (and of course, their previous rendezvous).

Gentle morning light pours in from the windows, hinting that it’s time to get up and start the day, but Ed would love a few more minutes in this heaven. He inhales deeply, breathing Oswald in. He catches the scent of his own hair products on him and it makes him warm all over.

Oswald shifts slightly, making a soft noise as if he’s still dreaming. It might be a while before he awakens and Ed has the chance to look into his breathtaking eyes again, so he decides that he might as well get up. Very slowly, Ed slips out from under the blankets, reluctantly leaving the comfort and heat of Oswald’s body, and he tucks the quilt around his shoulders, carefully, so as not to wake him. He thinks briefly about dropping a kiss to his cheek, unsure if he should dare to do so. Finally he does, feeling the very fine, peach-like fuzz of his skin on his lips.

Since Oswald has been rather unwell for the past several weeks, a hot, plentiful meal might do him some good, so Ed sets to work on breakfast. He shreds a block of cheese. Chops up some scallions. Cores strawberries and washes the blueberries in a colander. He pauses. He needs bacon. And he should really start on those pancakes.

Ed normally doesn’t have the opportunity to flaunt his cooking skills. Living alone (and being lonely) leaves him only preparing meals for himself, usually burned toast or a bowl of cereal, enough to satiate him but not actually _satisfy_ him. But ever since Oswald’s been staying here, Ed’s had more of a chance, and an excuse, to experiment with food, to make dishes he’s always hoped to try. Oswald’s been grateful for every bite.

As he whisks the pancake batter, his eyes trail back to the sleeping man curled up under his quilt. With warmth bursting in his chest, Ed smiles to himself.

_Maybe this is what love feels like._

And maybe it’s foolish but he finds himself dreaming of a future together, his heart fluttering all the while. His mind floods with images of the two of them. Cuddled up in bed under layers of blankets, warm bodies pressed together. Playing the piano and singing happily. Sipping hot tea as they discuss how they’ll tear down the GCPD and string up Gordon by his thumbs. He thinks about buying an engagement ring and surprising Oswald with it. He can picture how Oswald will give him a bright smile and a kiss and his acceptance of Ed’s proposal. And then life can continue as it does now, the two of them against the rest of Gotham.

Oswald stirs, shifting under the covers but still not emerging from his warm cocoon. In the several weeks Oswald has spent here, he’s never once woken up- or at least gotten out of bed- before Ed did. He’s certainly not an early bird.

Ed begins spooning the pancake mix into a heated pan, eyes shifting between the bubbles forming in the frying batter and the rising and falling mound of blankets on the bed. He flips the cakes and tosses several slices of bacon into another pan.

The tip of Oswald’s freckled nose peeks up over the covers as he breathes in the warm, welcoming smell of pancakes. After a few moments, when he’s decided he’s avoided the morning sunlight long enough, he sleepily props himself up against the headboard and silently watches Ed cook.

Ed stacks the pancakes high on plate, checks the sizzling bacon, and wipes his flour-dusted hands on a towel before pretending he’s only just noticed Oswald gazing at him. He shoves his glasses up his nose and offers a kind smile as he steps towards the bed. _Their_ bed, it seems.

“Good morning,” Ed chirps, tucking one leg under him as he perches on the edge of the mattress. He delicately takes one of Oswald’s hands and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the smooth, pale knuckles. _It feels like heaven to be with him._

Blinking a bit bashfully, Oswald dips his head and smiles, tender and sweet. Ed thinks he looks wonderful, with his mussed black hair falling over his eyes and with Ed’s too-large flannel shirt slipping from his shoulder. He finds that he doesn’t want to break his gaze from him. How did _Ed Nygma_ end up with Gotham’s most notorious criminal _in his bed,_ looking so incredibly beautiful and melting like putty in his hands?

“Hungry?” Ed asks softly, thumb rubbing gentle circles across his knuckles. “I know you haven’t been feeling tip-top so I made a good breakfast.”

Oswald’s enchanting eyes light up a bit, their pale green sparkling. “Thank you, Ed. Really,” he says with a soft smile. “I’ve never-” his eyebrows pinch and a look of sadness flashes across his face, “No one has ever been so kind to me. Except my mother.”

“I know,” Ed responds quietly, touching his other hand to Oswald’s cheek. He remembers how Jim had brushed Oswald off at the GCPD that day, how he could see the heartbreak in Oswald’s eyes even from across the room. Ed knows exactly what that feels like. The rejection. The humiliation. The burning in his veins and the stinging of his heart and just that feeling of wanting to scream his lungs out every time someone tramples him to the ground. He dealt with it from Jim. From the others at the precinct. From his parents. From nearly everyone. “I think you and I are a lot alike, in a lot of ways,” he finally adds, voice gentle. They share a few quiet moments, each lost in thought, before Ed is alerted by bubbling on the stove. “Oh! The food. Right. Ready to eat?” Ed asks, taking both of Oswald’s hands now and preparing to help him up.

Oswald nods enthusiastically and Ed leads him up off the bed to the steaming pan. Ed stirs the sauce a bit before lifting the spoon to Oswald’s lips. “Here, try this,” he murmurs, holding a hand under his chin, under the dripping spoon.

Leaning forward for a taste, Oswald hums with delight and closes his eyes blissfully.

“Blueberry compote. You like it?” Ed asks, although he can tell from the way Oswald licks his lips that he finds it delicious.

“Mmm,” Oswald responds, eyes fluttering open once more, “it’s incredible.”

“I’m glad,” Ed says with a pleased chuckle. He dips the spoon back into the sweet blueberry mixture, gives it another quick stir, and switches off the burner. “Want it on your pancakes?”

“Of course,” Oswald says, grinning, bouncing a little on his toes.

Ed’s eye catches on a dark blue smear at the corner of Oswald’s mouth and, without thinking, he reaches out to swipe it away with his thumb. He can’t even stop himself when he surges forward and takes Oswald’s lips too, making him gasp in surprise. He tastes of syrup and blueberries and an intense kind of melancholy.

Ed breaks the kiss suddenly, hands twitching nervously at his sides. Did he go too far? Too fast? His heart pounds and his face flushes. “I- I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mr. Cobblepot, I should have asked-”

Oswald presses his fingers to Ed’s lips and shushes him gently, a look of sincere warmth washing over his beautiful features. “ _Oswald,_ ” he corrects softly. And then Oswald sweeps his thumbs over Ed’s cheekbones, cupping his jaw, and he brings Ed down to his level once more, lips pressing and pulling with intensity as he kisses him again and again. 

Ed kisses Oswald until his lips turn a bright, lovely shade of pink.

“Come back to bed,” Oswald whispers against his cheek, dotting a little kiss there before taking his hands and tugging him along.

_Oh._

Of course Ed _wants_ to. But at the same time, his thoughts trail back to the woods, to that night Oswald came crashing through that door, pale as the moon, deep red blood trickling down his arm. He collapsed right into his arms, he was so weak. It’s been a slow recovery since. Oswald needs time, to build up his strength, to stabilize himself. And it’s Ed’s firm belief that the road to recovery starts with a healthy breakfast. 

Oswald captures his lips again, fierce and desirous. The backs of Ed’s knees hit the mattress.

“Um, Mr. Oswald?” Ed chuckles between each ravenous kiss he’s given. “Oswald.” Another kiss. Oswald’s hands slip all over him. “Oswald, the food.” Two more kisses. Three more. Finally Ed catches Oswald’s roaming hands, and he pulls away with a furrowed brow. “Not yet,” Ed laughs, “the food’s getting cold.”

Oswald’s reddened mouth twists and he drops his eyes to the floor. _Oh dear._ Ed never meant to make him feel like he didn’t want him.

“No, no- Oswald, I meant- in your condition, you need to eat something good,” Ed explains, stroking his cheek soothingly. “But I promise, after breakfast, I will _ravish_ you,” Ed purrs, although his voice wavers and he loses his air of confident seductiveness. Even so, he’s a bit shocked by his own boldness (but he was quite bold last night, too).

Despite Ed’s clear lack of confidence, Oswald blushes violently and bites his lip, suspending a smile. Brightness spills into his pale eyes once more.

Ed snaps out of his daze and claps his hands together. “So! What can I get you?” he asks, stepping back towards the kitchen and gesturing to the piles of assorted foods he’s prepared. Oswald follows slowly, never taking those bright eyes off of Ed. “We’ve got pancakes, bacon _and_ sausage, fruit salad… I of course _had_ to make a quiche-”

His nervous rambling comes to a halt when Oswald’s warm arms wrap around his middle, and he gasps softly and smiles. “Thank you, Ed,” Oswald whispers, pressing his cheek to Ed’s shoulder blade.

“Of course,” Ed answers, as he turns to look at him. Only his eyes and the lovely slope of his nose peek up over Ed’s shoulder; he’s wonderfully short, the perfect size for Ed to cuddle him and lean down just slightly to kiss his forehead.

“Thank you for everything,” Oswald repeats, his voice laced with sincerity and a sweet sadness. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have you.”

Ed carefully extracts himself from Oswald’s hold so he can properly gaze into his dreamy eyes. His hands find their way to Oswald’s and he grasps them tenderly. “Oswald, I-” he takes a breath. “Ever since I lost Miss Kringle I’ve just- I’ve been so alone.” The emotion floods into his voice. “I’ve never been with anyone- well, not _that_ kind of ‘been with’ I guess-” he knows he’s babbling aimlessly at this point, but it’s so difficult to articulate what he’s feeling. “What I mean is- Oswald, no one has ever treated me the way you do. Not even Miss Kringle. No one’s ever _genuinely_ liked me- all of me- and no one’s really wanted to just-,” he sighs, “-I don’t know- _be_ with me.”

Oswald only blinks rapidly, surely somewhat stunned. Oh dear, Ed must have overwhelmed him, this must be far too much for him-

“I feel the same.”

Ed’s heart squeezes. “What?”

“The only person who ever truly cared about me was my mother. And now…” he trails off and takes a deep breath. “Had anyone else found me in those woods, they would have left me to die. But not you,” Oswald offers a sweet smile. “You’ve been nothing but wonderful to me, Ed, and, well…” he huffs a laugh, beginning to sound a bit nervous. 

It makes Ed’s chest blossom with warmth and it brings a grin to his face.

“I think you’re wonderful, Ed,” Oswald finally says gently, his eyes softening beautifully. 

“I- I think the same about you.”

Lips parting, Oswald reaches up to caress Ed’s face delicately, like he’s the most magnificent piece of fine china Oswald’s exquisite fingers have ever touched. Like he’s Oswald’s whole world. And then Oswald leans up on his toes and presses their lips together, a slow brush of velvet smoothness. 

It’s not a kiss of hunger or desperation. No, this is something else. Something beautiful.

And Ed thinks, _This is what love feels like._


End file.
